Today, I was at the hospital for something pretty routine (not actually hospital-worthy, but the nature of my health insurance is that they will pay for everything as long as I go where they tell me to, and so they would rather I go to Hospital N for routine stuff than a doctor's office). Afterwards, waiting for Viking, who has gone to the next town to refuel the Rumpled Ranger.
There is a piano.
The beautiful, big hospital in the town where I grew up has three of these. They are placed in very open locations - my favorite is a Steinway in a rather intimate (by comparison) lounge with a pretty wall-fountain. Another is in this big marble tower-room that is cold and impressive - like if someone was inspired to build a cloister modeled after a well, and all they had to work with was marble. Playing there, everything echoes fantastically throughout the underground network. The most well-known is in a very big, very open, VERY well-trafficked central location in the hospital, and I am such a mouse that I've only played on that one once. Perhaps twice.
Typically, this is my thing. After giving blood, I stroll across the street and play on the Steinway for about an hour or so, just long enough to make sure I'm okay to drive again. Sometimes when I'm stressed and downtown late at night - if you know the underground walkways, you can almost always find a way to where you want to be in it - I'll go and play on the Steinway. That lounge is one of my favorite places in the city - it's set underground, but one side opens to a courtyard, so it's a two-story window letting in all kinds of light, but below the public eyes, and there are usually a few people on the couches and chairs who are pleased by a bit of music.
The understanding with each piano is that they are gifts to the people, for the benefit of the people. Music is healing. If you are able to play, and you can treat the gift with care, you are welcome to play.
And there is a grand on the ground floor of Hospital N.
Interestingly, I didn't really think about it at the time, but the construction of Hospital N, the main building is three stories, but they're all reached by an open staircase - so the music from the piano will flow down the corridors a bit on all levels.
I love to play. I am very rusty. We don't take pianos when we go around the world, and I have yet to establish regular access to one here in Washington. But there's something to be said for muscle memory.
And so, I quietly asked the other man waiting if it would disturb him if I played, and then quietly removed the cover and sat down.
And I played.
There was a time when my life was oriented around performance. I was bouncing off the walls, high-energy, brilliant smile when I was onstage. I lived for the energy coming off the audience, for the shared emotion of a well-formed creation, that had taken discipline, diligence, and passion to put together.
I don't know when that changed. Now I'm not much concerned with the presence of an audience. Now I just like to play, to make music. Fingering my way through a couple chords on a friend's guitar when we meet before work to pray each morning. The Gentleman sent me a harmonica within the first month of us leaving, just in regards to how much I missed making music and it was something I could have in my pocket and play with when there was no one around. I'm more likely to be making some kind of music, even just whistling or singing, when no one's paying attention. More often than not, I'M not paying attention.
One of the conversations that stuck fast in my mind was a day when a few of us friends were talking while watching a movie, and I don't remember who said what, but I answered it with, "Yeah, I don't think I really count as that anymore - I haven't picked up my instrument in YEARS."
The Gentleman was surprised, and turned to look directly at me. He has a tone that comes in when he's speaking what he absolutely believes to be true. "No - you're a musician."
Just simply stating what he had seen, what he knew to be true. The Gentleman values music, even treasures it as something that enriches life and wasn't part of his growing-up. I think I value mountains for a similar reason.
And playing the piano unlocked something. Hard to describe, but in the mix of twenty-something, "Oh, what am I ever going to do with my life, what am I good at, where should I go?" was the affirmation - this resonates with something of who I am.
It wasn't perfect. I messed up a few times. One song I had to abort halfway through because I could NOT remember one of the chord changes. But when I stopped, three stories over my head, I heard enthusiastic applause. Glanced up to see a small band of kids, who'd clustered out on the balcony to watch.
It might have been my rustiest time playing yet, and I stopped playing for applause a few years ago. I think it's that it was so unexpected, and so unneeded - I was actually surprised, in a very happy way.
And I got to play again.
There's so much to be thankful for.
There is a piano.
The beautiful, big hospital in the town where I grew up has three of these. They are placed in very open locations - my favorite is a Steinway in a rather intimate (by comparison) lounge with a pretty wall-fountain. Another is in this big marble tower-room that is cold and impressive - like if someone was inspired to build a cloister modeled after a well, and all they had to work with was marble. Playing there, everything echoes fantastically throughout the underground network. The most well-known is in a very big, very open, VERY well-trafficked central location in the hospital, and I am such a mouse that I've only played on that one once. Perhaps twice.
Typically, this is my thing. After giving blood, I stroll across the street and play on the Steinway for about an hour or so, just long enough to make sure I'm okay to drive again. Sometimes when I'm stressed and downtown late at night - if you know the underground walkways, you can almost always find a way to where you want to be in it - I'll go and play on the Steinway. That lounge is one of my favorite places in the city - it's set underground, but one side opens to a courtyard, so it's a two-story window letting in all kinds of light, but below the public eyes, and there are usually a few people on the couches and chairs who are pleased by a bit of music.
The understanding with each piano is that they are gifts to the people, for the benefit of the people. Music is healing. If you are able to play, and you can treat the gift with care, you are welcome to play.
And there is a grand on the ground floor of Hospital N.
Interestingly, I didn't really think about it at the time, but the construction of Hospital N, the main building is three stories, but they're all reached by an open staircase - so the music from the piano will flow down the corridors a bit on all levels.
I love to play. I am very rusty. We don't take pianos when we go around the world, and I have yet to establish regular access to one here in Washington. But there's something to be said for muscle memory.
And so, I quietly asked the other man waiting if it would disturb him if I played, and then quietly removed the cover and sat down.
And I played.
There was a time when my life was oriented around performance. I was bouncing off the walls, high-energy, brilliant smile when I was onstage. I lived for the energy coming off the audience, for the shared emotion of a well-formed creation, that had taken discipline, diligence, and passion to put together.
I don't know when that changed. Now I'm not much concerned with the presence of an audience. Now I just like to play, to make music. Fingering my way through a couple chords on a friend's guitar when we meet before work to pray each morning. The Gentleman sent me a harmonica within the first month of us leaving, just in regards to how much I missed making music and it was something I could have in my pocket and play with when there was no one around. I'm more likely to be making some kind of music, even just whistling or singing, when no one's paying attention. More often than not, I'M not paying attention.
One of the conversations that stuck fast in my mind was a day when a few of us friends were talking while watching a movie, and I don't remember who said what, but I answered it with, "Yeah, I don't think I really count as that anymore - I haven't picked up my instrument in YEARS."
The Gentleman was surprised, and turned to look directly at me. He has a tone that comes in when he's speaking what he absolutely believes to be true. "No - you're a musician."
Just simply stating what he had seen, what he knew to be true. The Gentleman values music, even treasures it as something that enriches life and wasn't part of his growing-up. I think I value mountains for a similar reason.
And playing the piano unlocked something. Hard to describe, but in the mix of twenty-something, "Oh, what am I ever going to do with my life, what am I good at, where should I go?" was the affirmation - this resonates with something of who I am.
It wasn't perfect. I messed up a few times. One song I had to abort halfway through because I could NOT remember one of the chord changes. But when I stopped, three stories over my head, I heard enthusiastic applause. Glanced up to see a small band of kids, who'd clustered out on the balcony to watch.
It might have been my rustiest time playing yet, and I stopped playing for applause a few years ago. I think it's that it was so unexpected, and so unneeded - I was actually surprised, in a very happy way.
And I got to play again.
There's so much to be thankful for.
No comments:
Post a Comment